The Problem with the Green Light
by ForThoseWhoLikeToMoveItMoveIt
Summary: In which case the green light is defective and doesn't always live up to its full potential. Oneshot. Of the Jay/Nick kind.


**Authors Note: Hope I did alright with this. This was in the making since late June this summer. It took me a while to get the courage to fix it up and finally post it. Review? No flames please...**

**~Natty**

* * *

_The __**loneliest**__ moment in someone's __**life**__ is when they are __**watching**__ their __**whole **__world fall __**apart**__, and all they can do is stare __**blankly**__. –The__** Great**__ Gatsby. _

It was a beautiful night, just perfect. His feet didn't even slip when he walked further out onto the dock. It was a cool breeze out, not at all chilly. It was a nice night. He feared it wouldn't be— with the rain and all yesterday- but the sky cleared up nicely, just like the paper said it would. _The Journal _was his favorite after all. They did have nice things to say about him, always inquiring on what nice things he had. He liked having those things, those nice, modern things.

On these nights he'd come out for hours, just to watch—just to look. The wide open night, endless with its field of burning stars—but not this night. Tonight the dark was cleared out, not a star in sight. The sky was voided of light. Even the moon seemed to be playing this childish game of _hide and seek._

But tonight, like every night he searched for something else— something of more promise and splendor than that can ever be given by a simple flaming star or cool moon. This was the thing he in fact lived for, what helped his life to go on, to inspire him to accomplish more great things, more prominent and nice things. This gave him everything, and for that he was grateful. He was, maybe even, in love with it. It had a power on a person, a great power to turn heads when looked at. It ached a peak at its wonder from the occasional mailman and passerby.

In a way, it was Daisy. He dreamt of her, late at night, whenever he closed his eyes, really. She was always on his mind, which he loved. Most nights he couldn't even sleep just thinking of the life they'll one day have together, and what they'd do together. That last thought varied in its meaning, but got down to the most beautiful of things they could accomplish, what they could make- what they could _have _in the form of the tiny patter of feet and a wail to be fed.

Tonight he felt close, so unbelievably close to her at that moment. She left this evening and he held onto her hand only for her to pull away and promise she'd be back. Her hand left his but it was his mind that remained without as much luck.

This led to nights of aimless wandering and giddy thoughts that led to smiling, deep breaths and then he would look up to find it. It greeted him in slow, timed, blinks.

A simple lifting of the arm and he could reach up to try and grasp it. He'd stay like that for a while, but then something happened and the timing stopped. It didn't blink anymore and he waited. It still didn't blink and he still waited, and then—

He stood there in something close to a shock, his outstretched hand was frozen in front of him. That wasn't at all right. Surely he must have been seeing things, but there was the problem. He wasn't seeing anything at all. He saw a heavy darkness spread out before him and all of nothing.

Gatsby closed his hand and slowly set it down to fall at his side. He looked down to his feet, shifting his weight on the wooden boards. He looked up again, hopefully. Maybe the poor thing was just stuck. It'll start back up again, he just had to be patient, of course.

So he waited, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets. After meaningless glances at his clock in which after each glance he wasn't even really looking at the hash marks, a few seconds of failing to whistle a tune, tugging on the collar of his suit that was suddenly too tight and patting out wrinkles just in case he was to be seen by someone for some reason. However, minutes passed before he looked up again.

His silence echoed through the quiet of the night, he turned away from the water just thinking—but found that he couldn't. He was a bit surprised only seconds later when a thought came to mind.

The old ground keep's cottage stood peacefully in the shadows of his palace and a name registered slowly into his thoughts until it became a force that beat out into the open. "_Nick_."

* * *

Nick's P.O.V

A few moments ago, I was asleep and dreading the next morning that I'd have to pick myself up and head off to the city. I was never worth a decent stroke of work, no one was able to say otherwise. If they tried, they were foolish. For lack of other ways to sum up what I'm saying, I was just completely _horrible_ at my job. I didn't want to do it, didn't feel like doing it, wasn't worth doing it, couldn't bring myself to find so much as a reason to keep doing it. Well, of course there was only one reason, one crucial reason. A reason that made sure I dragged myself out of bed, most of the time without breakfast, and got me running up stairs with an empty briefcase-

-I needed money.

I was without in this matter, and everyone I acquainted myself with- Jordan Baker, my cousin Daisy and her husband Tom Buchanan, Mr. Gatsby and even Klipspringer- I did see the musical man from time to time- They were all within on this one.

I wasn't generically one to complain really, of anything. I didn't feel less of them or hate them or feel any other kind of idiotic emotion because they all had more money than I did and spent so much so freely. I wasn't and never will be that way. Why should I be?

Only foolish people got into disputes over something as common as money. It came and went, sometimes stayed longer than it needed to, or even disappeared too quickly.

I never got upset when someone rubbed their wealth in my face, most of the time the person didn't really intend to. They're just so absorbed and happy with everything they have that they can't help but brag about it.

I don't blame Ms. Baker when she insists on paying on my cab rides home when I'm with her, although I could have very well paid on my own.

I don't blame Daisy for asking me to stay with her at her '_much nicer and more lavish house_', as she had offered. She had said my home was '_cute_' and that my life was '_adorable_'. I did and still do know what she meant by those two terms. With her house being extravagant and her life being lovely, it was only natural that mine were downgraded to the phrases '_cute_' and '_adorable_'.

I didn't blame Gatsby when he pondered into my business affairs, offered me some of his work and then the next morning paid a bunch of people to fix up my yard for me, I guess the sight just bothered him a lot. Now that I think of it, my lawn was a bit dreadful. It was my fault, I should have fixed it up when I moved in or maybe paid someone. I could have, if I wanted to.

I also don't blame him for having my whole living room rearranged and for him bringing over so many things that outmatched my simple tea things tenfold. He was just nervous and freaked out about Daisy. He just wanted everything to be perfect for her. You could never really blame a man for trying, now could you? Gatsby exceeded at almost everything. I do want to bring out the importance of the word _almost. _I did notice, although it was never that hard to see, that he had some trouble dealing with his emotions and controlling himself.

When he was angry, he was _furious _and that led to an outburst then to profuse apologies. When he was sad, he was downright _depressed_, drawing into himself behind the closed doors of his house. When he was in denial, he lost control of himself _completely_, this led to utter confusion and him just not knowing what to do with himself. When he was in love—well that much being obvious, leading to rooms filled to their brims with blossoms.

I've learnt not to blame or hold Tom accountable for intentionally throwing me under the bus, making sure I knew that I wasn't on the same level as everyone else. I may have been surprised and ashamed when Tom brought up my '_money problems'_ at the table while we were all sitting at it. Jordon sighed, Daisy scolded him, I glared, Tom didn't care, and oddly enough I felt Jay's hand slide into and squeeze mine from under the table. I was confused at first when he did so, looking at him in question for his current gesture. He hadn't let go.

He looked into my eyes and gestured to the death grip my white knuckles had on a fork from a dining set that cost half that of my paycheck. I realized he was trying to calm me. I was shocked, I hadn't realized I was angry, and was surprised that he was able to notice and understand. I let the utensil slip from my fingers and fall on the table cloth that was maybe 40, about half my rent. He had brought my hand to his lap where he stroked it gently for the rest of dinner.

He was first to get up from the table later on, saying how we had to get some rest and that we both had a lunch regarding Walter Chase and business early tomorrow morning, one that I never knew existed. He said goodbyes, enough for the both of us because I was still baffled. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and talked loudly of lies of business Walter Chase was involved in with the both of us, making sure that Tom overheard every word until we were out of earshot. He cut off midsentence and didn't say anything more until we got into his car and were long into driving. Gatsby kept his eyes on the road casually, while I just couldn't stop staring at him in what I hoped was disbelief. After a while longer, he turned and spoke, not taking account my expression.

"Daisy is a fine woman, don't you think so, old sport?"

"She's my cousin." I said, vaguely.

"Yes." he said and turned back to the road.

Then once again there was a silence between the two of us, all the way up until we reached West Egg and pulled into the entry of our driveways.

"Have a goodnight then." he said and moments later he was gone.

The next morning there was no lunch for business with said Walter Chase, nor did I even see Gatsby for two days after that. He watched me get in the cab for work on that second day from his window, he even gave me a thumbs up.

"That is ridiculous." I said to myself as I watched him smile to me from my cab.

"Excuse me?" The cab driver had huffed a response to my statement. "If you don't like the service, I recommend getting a job with enough money to get your own car. This is mine. You can ge-"

"No, no, it's fine." I waved him off hastily to quiet him and watched my neighbor make these lively gestures from his window.

I started to laugh, and he did too as he used his hand to imitate the nagging of the driver and the cab man's rotund appearance. By the time the cab was out of the driveway I was laughing hysterically, unable to will away my grin. As we got farther apart he waved goodbye to me, and I waved too until he was out of sight and I was well on my way to the city.

Even then at my desk, his ridiculous images from that window popped into my head and sent me into random fits in which I got scolded at by my co-workers and had to make snickering apologies to my clients on the telephone.

Partly having a good day at work, and mostly being in an artificial happy carelessness, I left early. For once in my life I wore a bright smile as I exited the second cab into my home where I discarded the empty suitcase with little interest. It landed somewhere I didn't know and I landed on my bed, just laughing and enjoying myself over apparently nothing. He watched me from his window, and he might've smiled too because I did and couldn't stop.

I didn't frown again until later on when a servant came to my door and gave me an envelope. I took it but he walked away in the middle of my thank you. I shrugged, still smiling and that's when I sat down in a chair next to my window and opened it. It- just like Daisy's voice- was full of money. I frowned then, and looking down on me and noticing that I was, so did he. I locked eyes with him and that blank, bewildered expression from some three nights ago in the car was back on me. He drew his curtains first, before I could even think to draw mine.

Then I frowned for the rest of the afternoon, faking my smile when we locked eyes again the next morning as I once again got in a cab. With the envelope shifting around in my briefcase, I nodded to him. He held a hand up against the glass to silence me, and then grasped his own hands together briefly. I didn't understand before, but I did then. I wore a neutral expression from then on, calmly speaking off Tom when he tried to lower standards of me and politely refusing Daisy's hospitality, kissing Jordan in front of all of them just because I could, showing that I had her nonetheless of anything else. That one day we all made use of Gatsby's beach, in my new sunglasses, he clinked his glass to mine and I sat back in the chair and nodded as I turned to watch Daisy and Jordan get into a childish splash fight. I smiled and he saw, then we both did.

At this insane hour, on this soon to be insane night, I was awoken by frantic screaming and close to psychotic banging on my front door. I panicked at first.

"Nick—old sport— Open the—"

The rest was drowned out by knocking against wood. Was that Gatsby? I tossed off the sheets and stood beside my bed. His distressed yells scared me slightly, and I wondered for a moment if I should even open the door in the first place but this was already decided for me as I started walking towards his shouting.

I had no idea what was happening behind that door and he sounded as if he were about to be killed. He called loudly and full of desperation, screaming slightly quieter than bloody murder.

It didn't take long for the panic to build in me as well. My old clock tumbled off the mantle from when I rushed passed it.

I fumbled with the locks, the task being only slightly more difficult with the clattering of the door and my shaky hands. It came open nonetheless.

"Jay, are you alright?" I grabbed his shoulders, wrinkling the soft fabric of his gray suit. He didn't answer me. "Are you hurt?"

He shoved my hands away from him, respectively and pushed me aside. He stormed in, right past me.

I was left still staring out the door until I brought myself to close it. It's not like this hasn't happened before, him barging in on me like that. This didn't come as a surprise at all. It amazed me how he was always the highlight of my day, honestly when he wasn't a part of my day, the day was almost always not worth mentioning.

Finding the man in my home was proving difficult. He wasn't in the living room, and no sight of him in the kitchen or in the hall or bathroom. More bewildered than he's ever made me before and half excited to find out what this was all about, I started to double check all the rooms' aforementioned, in places where I thought he could fit or hide if he was trying.

After a while of searching for Gatsby, I eventually gave up. He probably went home out the back door or something, so I soon found myself flopping on the couch.

It was then that I started to regret not going after him. Who could have known? He could have been running from Wolfsheim and those shifty men of his.

I still felt uneasy after trying to convince myself that everything was fine, seeing it as a bad lie I kept telling myself over and over. I decided it would be best to go find my neighbor before someone else did.

I was almost out the door when I heard the sound of something hitting wood and then a forced silence. I backed up and went into my room, eyes darting over the fallen clock on my bedroom floor and then up to Gatsby who was sitting in my bed.

"Jay?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't fix the clock on my own this time. They'll be another one handed to you immediately in the morning."

"Clock?" I asked, that being the only word to come to mind.

Gatsby pointed to the clock on my throw rug. "Apologies."

"I don't care about that clock."

"You don't? I thought you loved that clock, old sport. It's such a splendid clock."

"It's just a clock."

"And I suppose we're all just people too." He replied bitterly, twisting his cane in his hands.

I shrugged and sat down on my bed beside him. "Are you alright?"

"Pardon?"

My lip twisted a bit and I clarified. "I said, are you alright?" He wasn't even looking at me but trying to look past me.

"Oh yes. Fine, Nick. Very fine." He said, craning his head to investigate what lay beyond my bedroom window.

"Would you like me to move?"

"Move, old sport?"

"Yes, it doesn't look like you can see through me." I suggested.

"See through you? Nick." Gatsby put his hand on my back, attentively. "I could never see through you. You're too good a man."

"Really."

"Yes, of course. One of the best."

"Well thank you; no one's ever said something like that to me before."

"I can't imagine why." He told me. "You truly are a great man, one of a kind even."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Hardly. I'm no different than any other man, but you are." Somehow I felt that compliment actually offended him in some way.

He didn't try to respond to it, so I had to carry on the conversation before the growing silence swallowed us both whole.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

He didn't look up and I saw him try to open his mouth only to close it right back.

"Apologies-" He stammered. "I'm not feeling-"

"We all have bad days."

"It's just that the light's gone from me, old sport. And I'm afraid I'll never get it back."

"The light?"

"Yes." Gatsby confirmed and then there was a silence between us as I thought.

I decided to humor him. "Well, do you have any idea of where it might've gone?"

"No," He glared at me suddenly. "That's why I came over to you, I think."

"Oh."

"I need your help. Daisy, she just doesn't understand. You can make her understand, old sport. "

"I can? Why me?"

"Well you've said it yourself Nick, you are her cousin. You're closest to her by blood. That's the closest anyone could ever be to a person."

"Not always," I told him. "I'm not particularly close to my family. I'm not even that close to Daisy really."

"She adores you." He argued. "Always talks about you, old sport."

"That doesn't necessarily mean that I'm close to her."

"Yes it does." He shook his head, not understanding. "I never once mentioned my family since." He didn't say since what, but I didn't feel the need to question him. "But the light is still gone, Nick. I can't see it anymore."

I was still convinced he was speaking metaphorically as opposed to physically, so I thought he had meant he couldn't see the significance in it anymore. "Why don't you look harder?"

He stood up at once. "I didn't come over here to be made fun of."

"I wasn't trying to make fun of you, Jay. It's just a light no matter what the significance you see in it. If you really want Daisy to understand you just have to talk to her."

"God, do you hear yourself?" Gatsby scoffed, trying with great difficulty to look out the window. Finally he just went around me and over to it, straining to find something in the dark that wasn't there.

I sighed. "What do you want to do?"

"I want it back. I want what Daisy and I once had together. I need to see the light again."

"Why?" That really was the only word on my mind, and Gatsby didn't make anything any clearer.

"Because it's mine!" He snapped at me. "And he controls it!"

"You mean Tom?"

"He's taken everything- Daisy, now the light...!"

"Jay, that light belongs to Tom and Daisy. It burns all night, every night, at the end of their dock." I explained.

"But not tonight."

I shrugged at him. "Maybe they turned it off. They'll probably turn it back on to-morrow."

"Call them." He said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Call them, tell them to turn it back on." He said, his back to me.

"Gatsby, I can't just-"

"Please, _please, _old sport. I _need _that light. It's the only thing that I've-" Gatsby stopped, and tapped on the window to where the light used to be. "I need it back."

I nodded. "Alright…alright, I'll _call_, but please, while I'm doing this, do whatever it is you need to do to help yourself."

He nodded and I left the room to make the call. I heard the water start to run, and the bathroom door shut. I turned to dial the numbers with heavy fingers, wondering myself just what on earth I was doing or what I would even _say _to the Buchanan's at three o'clock in the morning regarding the disappearance of Gatsby's _green light_.

As far as anyone was concerned, there wasn't even a green light noticeable. Whenever Jay mentioned it, to Daisy or around Tom, the both of them didn't know what on earth he was talking about.

'What green light?', they would say and I'd watch as Gatsby would rush or get closer to peer out the window or door to look at the light on their dock, almost to convince himself that it was actually there even though he knew it always was.

I saw it, I was pretty sure Jordan noticed it, Gatsby _worshipped _it, but Tom and Daisy claim they know nothing of it or would deny even having a green light at the end of their dock.

'Green?' Daisy had said once. 'I thought that old light was blue. We'll have to get someone to change it to blue, Tom'. And one could only _imagine _the look on Gatsby's face when he had heard _that. _I know I couldn't believe man nearly died right there at the table, mumbling about how that wasn't necessary and he apologized, admitting that maybe his eyes had fooled him into thinking it was green instead of _blue_. He said the color with venom and I understood then too.

To him the little light always has to be, and will always be green. There was neither changing nor taking that light away from him. So I understood now as well. He had expected to see a light blinking back at him tonight, one that held his whole life in its single glow, and when it wasn't there it had upset him horribly.

Gatsby wasn't a child, he wasn't throwing a tantrum because of something he wanted but couldn't have. After staring and thinking about that light for so long, and somehow connecting it to his life he wished to have with Daisy, he became addicted to it. He spotted a simple glow one day and gave it an entire world of significance revolved around him. He reached out to it in his time of need, when he doesn't think he can go on and needs a small push or boost to reach his goals.

Now that it wasn't there to guide him he was lost and didn't know what to do with himself, which explained him forcing his way into my house and coming here the way he did. He couldn't find the green light to get closer to Daisy so he turned around and found me, another passageway. It all made perfect sense.

Perhaps I was rare, being able to figure him out so easily. I thought- no, _knew _that no one else knew him better than I did. No one has ever seen each and every side of him the way that I have. Not Jordan, not Daisy, not Mr. Wolfsheim, not any of his servants, and not even alcoholic millionaire Dan Cody- knew him at all like I did. Then again he was ever really just using Cody as a ticket to a fortune. But I don't really know, maybe at one point Jay saw him as his friend in the midst of his scandal.

My finger pressed against the last of the digits and in no time I was put through to their phone line. It started to ring, a shrill-like, metallic urgency, pressed right up against my ear. I started to think. What was I even doing calling them? Because Gatsby told me to? Gatsby wasn't even in his own state of mind right now, what was I doing being so foolish and listening to him?

It's so late, this phone call will probably wake them, or even their daughter, my little cousin Pam, could be disturbed by this call. I bet I'm waking up a bunch of servants right now as I do this. The phone kept its ring, louder each time for me.

Who was I kidding? Was I even in my own right mind? They'll probably think I'm drunk and hang up on me then go back to bed saying how they'll replace the green light with a blue one the next morning. That would _really _upset Gatsby, so much more so than he is now because the light is just _out_.

The ringing never seemed to end, it was ceaseless. What if they thought I was Myrtle Wilson calling the house again for Tom, and so late at night? This ridiculousness could start an argument or another pointless row of sorts.

Just when I moved my hand to hang up the phone, someone picked up. I heard a servant's French cry of pain and Jordan yelling.

"_For god's sake just answer the damned thing!"_ Jordan shouted away from the phone and then brought it to her ear. "I don't know what the big deal is, five men in suits standing frightened around the phone and none of them answer it- _"Hello?"_

"Jordan."

"Well if it isn't Mr. Carraway himself-" She said and then the phone was away from her mouth again. I imagined her yelling at the butlers over her shoulder. "_Look at that, I didn't explode because I answered a late call- How marvelous._" Then she was talking to me again. "I swear Nick, I don't remember why I stay here. This one over here making faces at me- It's a circus."

"I imagine so." I said.

"Anyway- well haven't you learned anything about calling at wrong times?"

"Oh god, are they arguing?"

"Close, they're sleeping. So was I."

"I'm sorry, really."

"No, no. You didn't wake me up. These idiots did with their arguing on whether or not they should answer the phone. It was so ridiculous, I just had to-" I felt that she shrugged it off. "But why are you calling for me so late? Do you love me too?"

"No- No-" I started. "Well, _yes_- But that isn't why I called."

"How disappointing. I was about to tell these fools to pack my things. I guess I just have to stay here then."

"I called for- Huh, you really hate it there? –But I really called for Gatsby."

Jordan paused and the possibility that she hung up was present, but she really didn't. "I believe you either have the wrong house or are out of your mind."

"No, I'm not. It's just sort of complicated-"

"Mr. Gatsby isn't here."

"I _know _that. That's because he's here at my house."

She paused for a second time and I sighed prior to her speaking again. "Looks like you've found him."

"Okay, I'm calling on _behalf _of Gatsby. Jordan, he's a mess."

"Poor thing." Jordan then snapped at me. "Well don't just talk on the phone! Help the man!"

"Believe me, I am. Are Tom or Daisy around?"

"Sleeping."

"Could you get one of them?"

"I can't wake people I don't want to deal with."

"Please- I need to speak with someone so I can go back to sleep. I have work in the morning and it's just getting later. I can't deal with this right now-" I talked a little quieter now, I suddenly felt as if Jay was listening through the walls. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was annoyed with him. "He's just a mess."

"You've said that."

"Well, he is. He forced himself in, ran to my bed and now he's nude in my- It isn't funny!" I shouted.

She started laughing before I even finished speaking and kept at it. I patiently waited for her to stop from my end, tapping my foot and glancing down the narrow hall that led to the bathroom door.

"And I thought our relationship was the biggest scandal-" She started.

"Enough! Are you going to help me help him or not?"

"Fine. What does he want?"

"He wants the green light."

"You told me about this. You said that, that's his metaphor for what he hopes to get. So you really mean he wants Daisy?"

"I wish it were that simple. No, he literally wants the green light."

"Daisy?"

"No, the light! That freaking light at the end of their stupid dock! It's gone out and he's gone just as well with it." I heard her shift and move. I feared the line cut off or she most likely hung up. Could you believe this? Two men going insane over a small spark of electricity. "Jordan?"

"Yes, I'm here. I'm just trying to see it- Oh, well look at that. The light's out."

"Yes! So could you _please_ get someone to turn it on or fix it or-"

"What is it about such a small light that gets you two so crazy?"

"I'm sorry, it's just- I'm so tired and I have to work-"

"I get it, but I don't think anyone is coming to go fix a light at almost three in the morning."

"It's not going to process to him that easily in the form of logic. You know him, he'll pay someone to do it and if he can't he'll come do it himself. Nothing will stand in his way, not even me! If it came down to it, I bet he'd kill me for it in the name of some sacrifice-"

"Alright, alright, calm down, I'll try to get something done. In the meantime stall him or try to set his mind at ease. No use for the man to be a wreck all night."

"All night? I have to-"

"Work, I know. Be a friend, Nick. He deserves one more than anybody, you know."

"I know, I know- But what can _I _do? He wants a light."

"Then give him one."

"How can I give him one?"

"It's easy."

"Easy," I repeated like she was mad and I didn't believe her. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"Just give him something to hope for."

"Ms. Baker, it can't be that simple…"

"But it is." She said with ease and half in love with her I had to believe her. "Look, you said he's nude in your-"

"Jordan, please-"

"What? I figured you'd need my permission- Unless you don't." Her tone carried a warning to it, it reminded me of a kind of siren or horn, a voice that pushed and pulled you without notice.

"I'm not doing anything like that and even if I _did _plan on doing something like that, of course I wouldn't tell you or anyone else."

"Not Tom?"

"He's the _last _one on my mind. I never tell him anything-"

"He sure tells you a lot."

"Yeah, don't remind me"

"Are you going to be alright?"

"I may have been overreacting, I'm easily pressured and Jay's desperate. I'm sure I can swing his attention elsewhere for a while." I affirmed her.

"And I'll try to fix things on this end- these butlers are still staring at me you know, I kicked one of them before to get to the phone. _He fell down quickly_." She whispered and the men heard her anyway.

"Right. Well I should probably get back to Gatsby. He's been in the bathroom a long time, now that I think of it I haven't heard anything since I called you."

"Are you sure he's alright in there?"

"Would he have a reason not to be?" I asked.

"Let's see." Jordan said. "Depressed man, plus water, plus un-attendance equals-"

"Don't be ridiculous. He wouldn't…"

"Nick?"

"I have to go." I said quickly and hung it up- or I really just dropped the phone without thought. Again I was in alarm, running to find the man that lived next door. The narrow hall I sprinted into led to a door to my right which was the bathroom. I halted there, knowing I couldn't and definitely shouldn't barge in. So I waited a few minutes more before starting to knock. "J-ay".

"In here, old sport." His voice said back to me.

"Oh!" I cried unexpectedly with a strong relief.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, it's nothing."

"Alright."

I didn't speak for a moment and I heard the water turn on, oddly. I tried to speak over it but it just got turned up louder as a response. I wondered if on purpose. "-called Daisy and Tom for you-"

"Nick, I can't even hear you- Come on in, it's alright. Nothing going on here that can't be seen."

I took that as a good enough okay and found out quickly that the knob wasn't locked. I turned it open and mere seconds later I wished that I hadn't. "I thought you said that there was nothing going on that couldn't be seen!"

He shrugged from my bathtub. "There isn't."

My face wore a ruby blush as I struggled to maintain eye contact. "Um-"

"You've seen yourself naked, haven't you?"

"Well- I-" This was more difficult than I ever imagined. "Of course I've-"

"Well then." He finished, ending the argument then and there.

I nodded and stared at his stormy blue eyes. He hadn't stopped staring at me, almost like he was waiting for some event or show.

"So?" Gatsby asked.

"So?"

He laughed at me. "What is it you were trying to tell me out there, old sport? Don't tell me you've forgotten so quickly as this."

"I called Daisy and Tom…" Somehow during my words, my eyes trailed down to his chin, then his chest, toned and impeccable. I trailed until I had to close my eyes to force myself to stop.

"And? You called them and what?" Gatsby pressed, eagerly. "What did they say?"

"They…"Everything shut out of me as I opened my eyes again, every moral and every difference between right and wrong that I have ever known failed me in this moment. "They didn't answer the phone." I gasped for air. "I'm sorry."

"No, that's alright…I…"

How could I have been so horrible as to lie to him like this? I was worse than the others, surely. I was about to apologize and take back my lie when Gatsby's eyes brightened up again along with his smile.

"I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I went and took a look at it for them." He said and started to get up, announcing. "I'm going."

"No," I exclaimed suddenly even scaring myself and no doubt him because he stopped abruptly in place. "I'll come with you."

"Would you, old sport?"

"Yes, of course I would." I threw my words out, desperately and frustrated. "I'd go anywhere with you."

"Do you really mean that?"

"Yes." I said.

Gatsby sat back in the tub. "What a great man you are, Nick. I'm glad you're here with me at this moment."

The irony of that statement hit me with such force that I couldn't take the setback. "I'll be in the living room." I choked, leaving the bathroom and never feeling so relieved and disappointed in my life.

I had to get out of there. I guess the steam from all the hot water was getting to me, probably clouding my mind or something. This was insane, I couldn't be attracted to him. I knew I wasn't, anyone and everyone who saw him knew he was handsome. He evoked fireworks when anyone looked at him, not just me.

I was overtired, that's it. I hadn't slept all that well the other night then I went to work and now I wasn't getting any sleep to-night. That had to be it, and I also had to go to work again in five hours, catch the train and run up the stairs to my desk before my boss could find out I'm not present again. Although foolish with money, Walter Chase was keen and known for brutally firing and making slander of his employees who weren't on task. I, was never on task, which proved to be a problem. I'd been lucky enough to catch him on good days when he hadn't lost heaps of money the previous night, I've never been late or called in sick on an off day yet, luckily, but luck wasn't secure and could always run out, much like his patience with me would.

Rubbing my puffy eyes and waiting being my only option, I sat on the couch to shut my eyes for just a moment to rest. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I felt was a hand on my shoulder trying to coax me awake.

"Nick…Nick…"

I opened my eyes groggily to find Gatsby standing over me and that I must have laid down for longer than anticipated because he was fully dressed again in his gray suit, pink shirt and gray-black striped tie.

"I'm ready to go, old sport, if you are."

It took me a moment to remember what we were supposed to be ready for exactly, but it came back to me soon enough. "Yes, I am."

He stepped back and I stood, following him out the front door. As I fumbled with my keys to lock my house, he made conversation.

"I used one of your towels, I hope that was alright."

"Of course."

"Also sorry about…barging in on you, the way I did."

"No problem." I said, distractedly as I worked to unjam the key from the lock.

"And for using your bath-"

"I've made use of your beach, haven't I?" I suppose that was payback for earlier.

"Yes, I suppose."

"Well then."

He laughed. "I guess I deserve that."

"I suppose."

"Do you need any help with that?"

I let go of the key and stepped back. "It's stuck."

"Leave it. No one will break into your house." Gatsby realized what he said. "That was wrong."

"Where's your car?"

"Garage, old sport, but do you mind if we stop in my house to change? For me to change my clothes."

I agreed and we went to his house.

"Water calms me, it always did. I never really knew why." He led me to his room and then he was in his closet. I stood by the bed and he came down the stairs with a pink suit in strong arms. "This one's always been my favorite."

"Ah."

He talked to me as he set the items on the bed, I didn't say anything really save for the occasional confirmation that I was still listening.

I turned when he started to change before me, my face striking a pink hue and staring out the window. Going back on his behavior in my bathroom and now as he dressed behind me, he wasn't ever really shameful. He's only ever been embarrassed around Daisy. She always brought something vulnerable inside of him out.

It was still night and stars were just starting to be visible again, half of the moon poking out from behind sketchy clouds. The green light was still absent over the water, which made me numb. It's not like I didn't trust Jordan or have any faith in her, it's just I picture that she laughed after hanging up the phone and went on back to sleep.

"I'm finished, old sport."

"Finished?"

He was fully dressed before me now. "Finished dressing."

"Right."

We were almost out the bedroom , when he stopped in front of me, me almost falling over him. He said he forgot something and was back in his closet. As I listened to calming rustling of fabric and the gusts of cool breeze, I became aware of how delirious I actually was. I sat on his bed, positive he wouldn't say anything of it. My head pounded like a heartbeat, firm and loud to me, face meeting the palms of my hands.

"Ready, old spo-" He sat beside me silently, cautious and looked at me closer. "Is everything alright?"

I didn't move or try to respond and he brought his hand to my head, raking through the hair.

"Your head is hot, do you-" Gatsby's hand curled around my neck and I opened my eyes when lips met my forehead, genuinely surprised at the action. "You have a fever."

I remembered my time with Tom when we stopped through the Valley of Ashes for gas, really he was aching for an excuse to see Myrtle. I didn't care and I stayed in the car. I remember the young boy and his ash-darkened face, his mother's soot stained dress as she bent down and kissed his forehead. I then watched her send him to bed with a temperature well over what it should be. The memory nagged at my already clouded mind, distant and far.

I imagined a younger, smaller and frail looking Gatsby, his mother acting out that same action and scolding him not to get up until supper. I don't imagine he listened to her though it would be possible if he had. He seemed like the more active type anyway, more rebellious.

"I'm fine. I just haven't been sleeping, that's all."

"Everyone needs sleep, Nick. You've made yourself sick." He was irritated with me, although I couldn't imagine why. "Lie down."

I let him push me on a pillow, his hands lifting my ankles on the bed nicely. He started to pace in front of me, his shoes tapping the floor with each agitated step.

"Jay, you don't need me to go and fix the light. You can just go if you want and I'm not even feeling that bad. I could still go with you, I'm fine."

"The light can wait." He said and I sat up instantly, staring at him like he had grown two heads. I was starting to think it was him who had the head fever.

"It can?"

He seemed to ignore my surprise at him. "I wish you'd take better care of yourself."

"What about the light?"

He sighed deeply. "Nick, I'm not even sure if I want it anymore. Any of _this_. Was any of it even worth it in the first place? If I can't have Daisy- what can all of this be for? I thought I'd have her by now to show for all that I've done- but in truth I have nothing."

"That's not true, Jay." I told him, sitting up so I sat beside him on his bed. "You can have everything you want, you just have to ask."

"Ask whom if I may ask?"

"Yourself." I shrugged, taking his hand. "What do you want?"

Gatsby shook his head. "I don't know what I want anymore. I thought I wanted Daisy, but now I'm not even sure if she wants _me_."

"You want hope." I told him and he looked at me in bewilderment. "I'm sorry things aren't working out with Daisy as well as you wanted them to. She's a coward, that's actually the reason we aren't close. We're different thinking people, and even if I am almost just as much as a coward, I know when I want things. She doesn't. I'm sorry."

"You want things?" He questioned, leaning in in curiosity. "Like what?"

"I'm so tired I don't even know right now."

"Well I've told you before," He began, pressing my hand up to his mouth. "If there's anything you want, all you have to do is ask for it and it's yours. Remember?"

"I do." And I did as our lips finally met. I knew this wasn't at all what he wanted, and that tomorrow when the light was turned back on he'd go right back to chasing Daisy, but I took what he offered as we both lowered to expensive sheets underneath us, it was all dismissible.

The problem with the green light is that it isn't always effective. It sometimes fails and it's up to us to get our own minds off that hope until it once again returns to us in the shape of what we see it as, in this case as a blinking light. We live for our hope and what we wish would become reality in its never ending imminent persistent glow.

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.


End file.
